


Hit the Silk

by PhantomProducer



Series: A Call to Arms [9]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Divergence - Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Canon Divergence - Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Commander Steve Rogers, Especially if you wear black socks, Established Relationship, Established Steve Rogers/OC, F/M, Feelings, Fluff and Smut, Irish Steve Rogers, Language Lesson, Multilingual!Steve Rogers, NSFW, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, One Shot, PSA: take off your socks before sex, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, So weird if you don't, Star Wars References, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers is Not a Virgin, Steve and OC are parents, The Lord of the Rings References, Use of Irish, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fluff, What Have I Done, What Was I Thinking?, one LOTR reference, use of French
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-19
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-11-16 03:36:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11245500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhantomProducer/pseuds/PhantomProducer
Summary: Even new parents deserve to have some time together, on their own. What will Steve Rogers do with the time given to him and his wife, Holly, on a Valentine's weekend?...Have dessert, at the very least. If not something extra.Set during Ch. 17 of the FF.net story,In Due Course. One-shot.





	Hit the Silk

**Author's Note:**

> I have returned, with another Holly/Steve nighttime adventure.  
> No shame = me.
> 
> Yet another piece of back story: Steve and Holly, through the generous donation of Natasha Romanoff, have been able to get away for two nights for Valentine's Day in the seventeenth chapter of _In Due Course_. It's their first weekend away from their son, and they have to make use of the time. And while they have public plans, it's the private ones they're more concerned with. This takes place roughly around February 10th, 2017.
> 
> I own nothing of the MCU, just the OC, Holly Rogers (maiden name Martin). You can read about her relationship with Steve Rogers, and her experiences with the other Avengers over on FF.net under the same username I have here.

“My, you are awfully handsy tonight, Commander,” Holly Rogers giggled at her husband as they stepped through the front doors of the hotel. Snow was drifting down outside, flakes of it sticking to their hair and coats as they entered, the brisk cold banished by the warmth of the lobby. Save for the staff at the desk, the place was somewhat deserted, which was preferable. It meant nobody would mob them in the hopes of speaking to _the_ Steve Rogers. They'd returned from dinner at a restaurant further in town, their first with just each other in a long while, and it had been...something of an adventure.

If one could call pats, tickles, and squeezes beneath the tablecloth an adventure, she snickered to herself. It had escalated when they passed from car to building, both of his hands reaching for what he could touch without issue in public. Crossing the lobby, the cool blue reflecting the name of the hotel as it wrapped from floor to ceiling, they deftly avoided the seating areas, tipping polite nods to the staff there as she pushed one of his hands down from where it had originally been questing. Though he'd been affectionate towards her in private, he'd never been quite to this level out where everybody could see him doing so.

After all, the man who was once called Captain America could not be allowed more than hand-holding or quick pecks on the cheek with his wife. (Sarcasm rolled heavily through her as she thought that.)

Steve spiked an eyebrow at her, his palm still cupping her hip. “I'm sorry, which one of us grabbed the other's behind when we were leaving the restaurant again?”

Her free hand, the one unoccupied with holding their take-out container of dessert, flapped in the air dismissively. The mischievous set of her eyes, though, gave her away.

“That was just...fixing the back pocket,” she excused herself. Her little grin became slightly sour as she recalled exactly why she felt the need to, well, make adjustments, in the first place. “And it got the woman three tables over to stop flippin' ogling you.”

At that point, she was hardly ignorant of the fact that her husband, the former Captain America and now Commander of the Avengers, was quite a handsome man. Tall, well-built, blond and blue-eyed to boot, he attracted attention the minute he set foot into a room. His reputation generally preceded him as well, and guaranteed that attention stayed on him for a good portion of time. Their arrival for dinner had caused a stir, and even though they were afforded a measure of privacy, that hadn't stopped people from looking over. It hadn't stopped people from looking over at _him_ with interest. The few women that had sneaked peeks had left it at that—quick glances and then back to their tables. The woman there, with blonde-streaked hair and big lips coated in glossy pink lipstick, kept eyeing him up regardless of the woman seated beside him. Holly had only glanced in that direction a few times, her focus on her food and what her husband was saying for a good majority of the time. She'd felt badly for the poor guy the woman was with; from what she could tell, she hardly made the effort to talk much to him.

Holly knew that being jealous would not get her anywhere, and that it was not fair for either of them to be so since she knew how faithful and true Steve was to her. Still, she made her point when he'd signed off the check and helped her out of her seat, her palm slipping into his back pocket with ease. When she glanced back, she saw that the woman had finally turned her gaze down, a grimace on her face and the fellow across from her waving for the check as well.

In the present moment, Steve's face reddened as his brow quirked.

“Was she?” he murmured, tutting under his breath. His jaw stiffened slightly as he shot a look down at the floor for a moment. “I didn't notice.”

Holly bit on her lip to stem her grin. After a year and a half of marriage, of nearly three years of knowing one another, he did not get as flustered as he used to by the opposite sex. When it did happen, it was generally due to situations like that, and he truly hadn't noticed. Sure, he could appreciate the prettiness of a woman, but it was brief. In comparison to the deeper affection and appreciation he reserved solely for the woman beside him.

Shaking his head, he also grunted, “Besides, didn't happen to just me. That guy at the bar kept looking at you like he wanted to...well...”

Holly blinked rapidly at that as they turned a corner and stood before the elevator bank. She'd seen one guy at the bar along the far wall at the restaurant when they'd entered—tall, with black hair and a wide smile—but once they'd passed by him and got to their table, she'd promptly forgotten about him. Apparently, her husband hadn't, and had seen more there than she did.

“With all the single, pretty waitresses there? Doubtful,” she retorted, her protest dying when she saw the discontented glimmer in Steve's eyes and his grin dimming. It wasn't with her, no; it was that she thought she wasn't enough to attract any other person's notice. At best, she considered herself pretty, but he knew that she didn't think herself as an outright beauty (definitely not after pregnancy). He often wished that she could see what he did; but then again, he did the same thing on a few occasions, and he did not feel compelled to get into that argument once again. Not that night.

Pressing the up button for the elevator, she sidled closer to him, nestling into his side as his body began to relax. “Not like it matters, anyway, right?”

It didn't matter. The only man's attention she wanted was the one beside her, and she was more than happy with that. As was he, with her.

“...Right.” Steve glanced down at her, his smile growing once more and his chin inclining. “Still grabbed my ass, though.”

Holly scoffed in good humor. “Sweetheart, have you seen your ass? It's like the One Ring: impossible to resist. Besides, you've been getting your fill all night.”

She glanced pointedly to the arm curled around her, catching him out as his hand had slid lower than small of her back. He also had his hand parked on her leg throughout the majority of dinner, with it sometimes creeping higher than it should have. He always stopped short of truly inappropriate, though, and she wasn't sure if that was a calculated move on his part to make her more desirous, or if he just didn't want to take it so far in public.

He adopted a bashful expression, his irises bright. “Can’t help it. Gorgeous dame like you, here with me, I’m one lucky fella.”

The use of the outmoded slang made her shake her head and chuckle, but the sentiment behind it warmed her heart.

“Ha. You think you’re the lucky one,” she crooned, turning to face him and his arms wrapping around her as she did so. Feeling cheeky, she leaned up as if to kiss him, stopping at the last moment to whisper, “Dude, you have no idea.”

His head jerked back, and it was his turn to give a laughing scoff. “You think ‘dude’ is an appropriate word to use in this context?”

“Hey, you used your slang. I can use mine.” Her eyebrows inclined just as the elevator finally arrived on the floor. As the doors slid open, she glanced at them and asked, “You really want to turn this into a speech lecture?”

The flickering fire in the back of his eyes flared to life then, and he smirked.

“God, no,” he said, grasping her waist and veritably pushing her into the empty conveyance. The doors were not even shut when he brought her into the far corner, mouth connecting with hers. She almost dropped the take-out box in her hand, her focus stolen by the swipe of his tongue at her lower lip and slipping into her mouth. Swiftly he moved, kissing the spot just below her ear and his fingers working at the buttons on her winter coat. Swept up in the passionate embrace, Holly nearly lost herself to it. The elevator jolted a bit when it started to move, driving her back into herself and making her realize a few things.

“Steve, babe, not in here.” Her head tipped back as he grunted, not pausing in the least. Her fingers threaded into his hair, pulling carefully on the strands until he brought his head up. Pupils were blown, his lips pink and deep breaths expanded his chest, but she couldn't allow herself to get lost in how utterly debauched he already looked. Swallowing hard, she tipped her head to the mounted device in the opposite corner and stated, “Cameras, small space, and no protection. We can't.”

Bracing his forehead against hers, he barely nodded a few seconds later, pivoting enough to let her out of the corner. However, he didn't let her get too far; when she'd stepped in front of him, he'd wrapped his arms around her waist, drawing her back to rest against his front. The security guys wouldn't a peep show, but he couldn't resist at least holding her.

“Slowest moving…” he groused under his breath, almost glaring at the number display as the floors ticked by. Snorting, he grumbled, “It’s good to know that what they skimped out on for quality elevators, they instead put towards the suites.”

“Yes, at this moment, I’m definitely all for that big bed,” she replied, feeling his grip tighten and his rumble in agreement. An evil little thought crossed her mind, one that flew directly in the face of what she'd admonished him for earlier, and she couldn't help but act on it. She arched her back slightly, enough so that her bottom could rub against him, and she felt as much as heard his choked gasp. The action was backfiring, her teasing him making her own throat catch when he pressed his stiffness against her, one palm at her hip threatening to dip lower.

Finally, the display on the elevator wall read '8,' the doors sliding open and revealing the hall of their floor. Sighs flew out in tandem, and she almost giggled.

“Thank Christ,” he breathed in relief in her ear. Suddenly, she felt herself being swept off her feet, one arm around her back and the other hooking under her knees. Squeaking, her free hand scrabbled to get a hold and steady herself, hooking around his neck as he bolted off the elevator and down the hall.

“Steven Grant Rogers!” she chided him as he rounded the corner, setting her back on her feet before she could register the complaint.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, but I am faster than you,” he said, his desire not abated in the least. His eyes crinkled at the corners as he winced down at her, though, which gave some strength to his apology. Pressing her back against the door of their room, he bent his head, going for a kiss when she jerked back. Fingers splayed over his coat, halting his progress.

“That’s the point, though. It doesn’t have to be fast,” she told him, pushing against his chest lightly and making him back up a few inches. Her dark brown eyes met his, and her hand cupped his cheek. “We’ve got time tonight. Tomorrow, too.”

Since she'd healed after the birth of their son, moments of intimacy were grabbed in snatches. In between their jobs and caring for the baby, it was difficult, but they'd found a few moments, sometimes in the spur of the moment when they had no other options (one instance came to mind, when Grant was napping and Holly had come out the door, snatching Steve by the belt loops and dragging him into the hall bathroom for him to take her on the counter. After that, he'd started hiding condoms around the house, just in case). It wasn't bad, at all, but it had to be quick by necessity. However, it didn't have to be that night. Grant was in Lang's care for the next couple of days, their dog as well, and they didn't have to rush.

“I guess…I’m just used to, y’know, doing what we can, when we can,” he intoned ruefully, shooting her a knowing grin. “But I can adjust.”

She glanced down, and snickered playfully. “I think you have, at least a few times tonight already.”

The darkness in his eyes grew, his hand coming up to cup her chin. His thumb drew over her lower lip, and he inhaled sharply when she puckered up and kissed the digit.

“You got quite a mouth on you, darlin’,” he said, the baritone of his voice rumbling low.

Her eyes went half-lidded, and she peered up at him from beneath the lashes. “That a bad thing?”

“Not at all,” he intoned, a grin gracing his mouth mere moments before he kissed her. That time, it was sweet and slow, sips taken to stem and simultaneously build the burn in them both.

With that dealt, she pulled back, smiling up at him and holding her hand out. Obliging her, Steve fished his wallet out of his pocket, retrieving the card key from it and handing it to Holly. Stepping into the suite, he closed and locked the door behind them as they entered, taking deep breaths to calm himself. He cast his gaze around the suite that they'd been given, unbuttoning his coat as he went and blinking as she clicked on a couple of the lamps. The place had a kitschy, somewhat modern feel to it, with the boxy couch and chair in the separate seating area, and the white, clean lines of the arch leading to the alcove where the aforementioned big bed was. (The blown-up photograph of the apples caught him off-guard; that was a little much, even in his opinion.) Tossing his coat haphazardly on the sofa, he toed off his shoes next, watching surreptitiously as Holly shucked off her winter wear. The take-out box of cake was stashed into the small fridge tucked into the corner below the giant photograph, her coat on the chair and her groan of relief coursing out her throat when her heels were removed. He strayed to her legs—no stockings that evening, but the slit up to the knee was enticing—and he swallowed, his suit jacket removed next.

(Another thought occurred to him as she sauntered up to the bed, and he swiftly removed his socks as well. He definitely did not want to strip down and have the image of himself wearing nothing but those burned into her mind; she'd confessed long ago that they looked awkward on any guy, and it felt weird to her to have sex with someone who didn't take them off.)

As she stood beside the nightstand, she smiled coyly at him, carefully removing the earrings and the caged pendant she'd worn to lay them atop it. The few pins holding up her hair into the small bun were pulled loose, her brown waves falling around her face as she put them to one side. Padding back to the end of the bed, she sat down, the skirt of her dress hiked up slightly so that the slit hit her knee. His Adam's apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed again, his feet moving before he could think about it. Halting mere inches from her, he watched as shallow breaths filled her chest, the faded red of her lips all the more enticing when they parted again.

“Slow,” she reminded him, taking his hand—his left, his wedding ring glinting in the low lamplight—and brushing it over the bare skin above the scoop of her bodice. Settling it to span across her collarbone, they both shared in a shiver at the contact. Peering up at him beneath hooded eyes, she murmured, “Take your time.”

Pensively, he nodded, gliding his fingers across her skin and over to her shoulder, tracing down her arm until his hand curled around hers. Tugging on it gently, he silently coaxed her to stand, bending his neck and sipping at her lips for a few, long minutes. Her hands tripped around to the back of his shirt, fisting into the cotton when his tongue brushed at the seam of her lips. Opening up to him, she met his brushes into her mouth stroke for stroke, reveling in the feel of him against her. A hand bunched at the side of her dress, and she took it as a prompt to pull away, taking a handful of the material and pressing it into his grip. Understanding dawned, and he started to lift the dress up, her arms raising to accommodate its removal. Goosebumps bloomed as the dress whispered against her skin, a shiver coursing down her spine once it was gone and Steve's wide gaze took in the sight of her.

“Ah, so that's where your red is,” he muttered, the corner of his mouth curving as her dress fell from his hands to the floor. The black garment had hidden her under-attire well, and he was pleased with the result. They were cherry red, strapless bra and boyshorts both, and not even new. However, she wore them so rarely that they seemed that way—she'd felt red was too intense a color for her, preferring green and other, earthier tones. In that moment, he entirely disagreed with that notion. She pushed the pool of fabric to one side with her foot, giving him a broad smile.

“Yep. Where's yours, Nerfherder?” she teased him, tugging on the end of his tie and bringing him closer. Like her, he hadn't gone with the traditional color scheme the holiday had to offer (even if the official day for it wasn't until Tuesday). Instead, he'd picked his blue suit, the cut of his melding to his body and accentuating his form. The lighter, patterned tie brought it all home, the entire ensemble highlighting the blue of his eyes...when it wasn't being eclipsed by the spread of his pupils.

“You'll find out soon enough, Princess,” he promised her, cupping the back of her neck and grinning. He let his gaze drop over her, marked appreciation lighting his features. Her fingers trailed slowly up, loosening the knot of the tie and pulling it off. It was tossed to the floor, the buttons of his shirt popped slowly. The heat of her hands bled through the layers as she went from one to the next, the muscles of his stomach jumping as she made her way to the final one. When the last button was worked free, he forced his hands down to his sides as hers slid back up, tugging the article off his shoulders. Letting it drop onto the carpet, he made quick work of the undershirt himself, her fingers prying at the belt. His hips canted as she pulled, a sly look flashing over her face when one was less of her own work and more of his own volition. Clicking her tongue, she slowly worked the belt loose, pulling it from the loops and tossing it towards where his shoes rested. The button and zipper of his fly were dealt with, and when she pushed his pants down his thighs, she paused, doing a double-take and backing up.

“Oh my God,” she said, gleefully looking up at him and letting her eyebrows scrunch. “Themed underwear?”

He couldn't hold back on his smirk. Back when the original plan for the holiday consisted of dinner at home and maybe a romantic movie or two, in between caring for their boy, he'd bought the boxer briefs as a partial joke. At the time, it seemed unlikely that they would have a full night of passion, and he thought she'd at least get a kick out of them. And possibly having it lead to some heavy petting, if not anything else, at bedtime. When the plans changed, he still brought them along. No point in wasting them, and it was for a good cause, anyway.

Besides, they were pretty tame in comparison to some he'd looked through. At least these were still regular underwear: red, with darker hearts stenciled in as the design.

Spiking an eyebrow at her, he murmured aloud, “Happy Valentine's Day. Well, nearly.”

“Geez, you're a dork,” she said, shaking her head. However, the lusty lilt to her smile had not dissipated, and she stepped forward again, practically flush against him as she pushed his trousers down further. “My dork.”

Freed from the confines of the material, he kicked them off once they'd puddled around his ankles, the throbbing ache given a moment of relief. Arms looped about his shoulders, and he barely had a moment to breathe before her mouth was on his again, hot and open to him. Tongues met and curled around each other, hard licks amping up the pleasure that burned in their bodies. The ache pounded through him, and he had to forcefully remind himself to pace the endeavor, one hand twining into her hair and the other sliding down to knead her bottom. At the feel of his hardness caught between their bodies, at the press and cupping of his fingers, she moaned into his mouth, driving him to go on. Palms went down to her thighs, pressing insistently into the skin. Taking the cue, Holly curled her arms harder around his shoulders, pulling her mouth away as she executed a little jump. Her legs wrapped around his waist, his hands gripping her ass to support her, and the ache in him spiked.

“ _Je te veux_ ,” he said, unconsciously slipping into French as his arousal mounted. In the split second of realizing he'd switched languages, he made a conscious decision about it. Looking her directly in the eye, he moaned, “ _Tu m'excites._ ”

Holly didn't reply; she couldn't, since she only knew a few words of the language and would not be able to form a complete sentence. Still, her body spoke for her, the tightening of her thighs around his waist and the slight grind of her crotch grazing him telling him exactly how his words were received. The command he had over the languages was something he knew she never tired of, and in fact delighted in forcing out of him in moments of heightened desire. The heat in her gaze increased as she stared back at him, her smile becoming a touch more feral than before. Her following kiss was as well, desperate and longing as teeth and tongues clashed.

“ _On va se coucher,_ ” Steve mumbled against her lips, pivoting then. His intentions were clear mere moments later, even if his utterances weren't. Bringing her around to the side of the bed, he laid her across it, hovering over her on hands and knees. A few precious breaths were taken, and then he dove in again, unable to resist the pull of her mouth and a few more words tumbling out.

“Not fair,” she groaned in between kisses. Sighing as he made his way down her neck, she muttered, “You could literally be counting to ten, and it still would sound good.”

“Trust me, honey, I ain't countin',” he gasped against the join of her neck, slipping back into English and his tongue swiping hotly over her pulse point. Scraping his teeth gently against her collarbone next, he chuckled darkly as a stuttering breath filled her chest. “Well, maybe...”

Before she could question him, she felt his hand work at the band along her back, fingers wedging between her and the comforter to find the hooks of her bra. Elevating herself onto her elbows, she gave him the room to work, the strapless garment thrown across the room blindly when it came loose. Bare from the waist up at that point, her eyes closed briefly at his silent appraisal, the lust in his form tripling as he looked down at her. His gaze lingered on her breasts, and he couldn't help but lick his lips as he decided on the next course of action.

“ _Un, deux_...” he began cheekily, kissing the nipple of one breast and then the other, effectively stemming any retort she could have given. He trailed off, choosing instead to tenderly swirl his tongue around the second, her cries of pleasure vamping up as he started to suckle on it. He cupped and brushed the other with his fingers, her body squirming beneath him the longer he sucked and touched her. Moving his mouth to the neglected breast, his hand skimmed down her torso, over her belly (still tensing at his touch, no matter how many times he assured her that he didn't mind how she perceived herself to look. He liked her curves, and the marks on her skin from carrying their son were a measure of courage and pride; they were nothing to be ashamed of, in his mind). Dipping briefly below the elastic band of the panties, he pinched the material between his thumb and forefinger, tugging slightly in silent question. One last lave was dealt to her breast as he looked at her, the fervent nod she gave him allowing him to proceed. The panties were pulled down, aided by the raise of her hips and his other hand pulling as well. Like her bra, her underwear was tossed away, lost for the moment. Fully bare beneath him, she let her darkened gaze wander over him as he stared down at her, the hunger in his face all too apparent in that moment.

Fingers traipsed over her naked waist, the calloused pads sliding lower, goosebumps erupting as he slipped downward. His palm cupped the cleft between her legs, and she tipped her head back against the sheets, his spreading knees widening her legs with no resistance. He dipped and traced over her folds, deftly moving through the wetness up to the bundle of nerves practically screaming to be touched. Light circles were brushed around it, the humming of her body increasing when he leaned and captured one of her nipples in his mouth again. Delighted gasps poured out of her, and she could feel him smile against her skin.

“ _Ça te plait?_ ” he mouthed against her breast, the fervor in his touch increasing for a few seconds. He knew she wouldn't understand what he was saying, but the slip into the foreign language would not stop him from asking.

“Yes...” she breathed, unwittingly answering his question as her head lolled back and her eyes fluttered shut. Drinking in the arch of her body, the pleasure in her face, he exhaled hard, his ministrations never pausing. Leaning closer, he nuzzled at the line of her jaw, waiting until she managed to open her eyes again. The slow, lazy circles he made with his finger around her clit became a little tighter, pressing a little harder as he swiped over it back and forth.

“ _Oui, ma beauté_ ,” he said, the sweetened tone still holding an edge of command. Her mouth opened, the moan turning into a groan when he back off a bit. Still, he wanted to hear her respond in kind, just this once. “ _Dis oui_.”

Curiosity filtered through the haze of lust in her eyes, and she blinked rapidly at him. Thinking she understood what he was asking, despite her lack of fluency, she wet her lips, struggling to find her voice as he continued touching her.

“ _Oui_ _?_ ” she finally squeaked, and she was rewarded with a hard, hot kiss.

“ _Bon_ ,” he nearly growled, the circling turning much more aggressive in that instant. She couldn't say anything else, her mouth otherwise engaged in panting and moaning as he slipped down to her entrance. Two fingers pressed inside as his thumb took position on her clit, and her hips circled and jerked to meet his hand. There was no holding back or stemming the tide; the release she sought was being chased down, nearly caught.

Presses, rubs, and then she tumbled, falling straight into bliss as her walls tightened around his fingers. The digits slowed in their pumping, working her through the aftershocks. Gently, he removed his hand, smirking down at her as she came back to Earth. Slowly, he lifted his hand, sure she was aware of his actions as he slipped his fingers in his mouth, licking up the essence of her left upon them and groaning in satisfaction. Her dark eyes narrowed in on him then, and in less than three seconds she was up, shoving hard against him and making him fall onto his back in surprise.

“Holly!” he crowed, taken aback by her sudden aggression...as well as liking it immensely. She was on all fours over him, her hair wild and her eyes gleaming in the low light. Hands curled around his wrists and held them above his head, and barely bit back a moan when she leaned against him, the press of her breasts to his chest compacting upon the brush of lips against his ear.

“I can't speak French, but I've got a few things to say to you.”

And speak she did, bending her lips to speech as much as she did to grazing his neck. Between kisses and laps, sucks and scratches on his skin, she praised him. Endearments were whispered along with how well he pleased her, how good he always made her feel. His touch and taste were like a drug she couldn't get enough of, she'd said, sucking on his own pebbled nipple. The response he'd been preparing to give her died on his tongue, replaced with moans and hard breaths through his nose as she flicked her tongue, teeth scraping down his abs to his navel. If he hadn't already been flooded with heat by that point, he thought that her words would've done so. Steve didn't think himself to be a vain man—certainly no more and no less than any other guy—but the praises she was singing the lower she kissed and nibbled at his body swelled in his heart. Swelling occurred elsewhere, as well, but it all compacted in his mind, filling him as she crooned about how she would do the same for him; she’d give him all that he needed.

He was torn now, between wishing to hear her speak more often in bed and driving her to the point where she couldn't vocalize anything beyond sheer ecstasy. However, both thoughts went out of his mind when she tugged at the waistband of his underwear, barely waiting for him to lift his hips and shuck them off before she had his penis in hand. Long, smooth strokes had his mouth dropping open in silent delight, the curl and pressure of her hand suddenly replaced by the wet, hot run of her tongue. His own pleased gasps could not be silenced then, even when all she did was lick from base to tip. If she took him in her mouth, he'd be done for, and he knew it.

“Princess...ngh, I know I promised, but this—” He struggled to even breathe properly, the swirl of her tongue around him nearly too much to bear. Winding a hand in her hair, he pulled gently until she backed off, the glisten of her mouth and the blown pupils making him choke down a gasp. Tracing a thumb around her lips, he felt himself twitch when she let him slip it into her mouth. Trying to get a grip on himself, he rasped, “I don't want to wait another half hour if...please?”

His thumb fell away with a pop, and she bit her lip, considering his words.

“...Yeah,” she agreed, nodding vigorously. The desperation in his eyes had matched hers, and she couldn't handle it. They'd taken enough time. “Don't think I can wait any longer, either.”

Holly veritably hopped off the bed then, rushing over to the bathroom after he told her about the protection he packed being in his toiletry bag. Practically ripping the door open, she missed how Steve stifled a groan in near-agony. As she rifled through the pockets of his bag out of sight, he'd raked his hands through his hair, one dropping to slowly stroke himself to stay primed and ready for her. Crowing in victory, she stormed back to the bed, the box of condoms he'd packed in hand. Opening it with shaking fingers, she froze, unable to look away while he touched himself, all sprawled out on the bed and waiting for her. The heat in her belly burned hotter, and she frankly met his gaze when he looked at her. The strokes seemed to grow rougher, the cords in his neck standing out as he stifled another groan, and she knew she couldn't tarry any longer. One foil packet was retrieved, torn open with alacrity and the condom was rolled down onto his penis before too long. Climbing up, she straddled him, his hands on her hips and guiding her down onto him as she held him in place. Her cries mingled with his gasps, the couple stilling as she sank down to the hilt on him. Mere seconds passed before he gave a tentative thrust up, prompting her to start moving. Palms balanced on his chest, one firmly covering the ridge of the scar there as she used him for leverage. She rose and snapped down, Holly riding Steve with abandon as the minutes flew by. The scrape and thickness of him against her inner walls were so good, much better than his fingers. The encompassing heat and wetness of her gave him even more pleasure than her tongue had earlier, and he bucked up as she slid down, the pair chasing down their ecstasy as skin slapped against skin.

Blown-out eyes stared up as she threw her head back, the bounce of her breasts and slicked sheen of her body capturing Steve. When she took point in bed, it was always a joy, and he relished it. However, he felt the want for more, the need for it, rising in him. Curling his arm around her back, he pulled her down into a fast, sloppy kiss.

“Hold on, sweetheart,” he moaned, grabbing her hips and halting her motions. Before she could properly express her confusion, he'd pulled her up and slipped out of her, rolling her onto her back and shoving back inside of her swiftly. Her body arched as he entered her again, her legs curling around his waist as his knees dug into the mattress.

“Steven!” she almost screamed, all the pent-up passion that had to be stifled at home unleashed then. His thrusts sped up; the strength behind them had her crying out as he nudged the spot deep within her. His heart beat rapidly in his chest as he sank in and pulled back, lowering onto his forearms and mouthing at her jaw as she let another delighted cry out.

“ _Sin é, a chailín álainn. Sin é,_ ” he breathed against her ear, taking the earlobe between his teeth and tugging. Nails scratched down his back, the sting of them ignored as he pumped even harder into her. Her thighs shook around him, the string in her gut threatening to snap. One hand fell away from his skin, snaking between their bodies and to her clit, furious circles rubbed as his thrusting was turning jerky. Almost there, and she wanted to take the tumble. Feeling her press between them, Steve grabbed her wrist, pulling it away and replacing her fingers with his own. Long, deep thrusts and the gliding pressure on her bundle of nerves increased, and Holly dug her heels into his backside. Moans erupted from her as her walls could no longer hold back, slamming and convulsing around him. A few more fast thrusts, and he followed after her, hard groans rocketing out of him as his hips jerked, releasing within her. The tremors of the orgasms were ridden out, Steve burying his face in the crook of Holly's neck, her fingers winding into his hair as she tried to catch her breath. The low, dull throbs of their bodies were barely subsiding when he propped himself up again, slipping out of her, shudders wracking them both as he did so. Deep breaths filled his chest as he shuffled off of her, lying on his side and resting his head on the crook of his arm.

“Well,” Steve gasped, getting his voice back after a few minutes, “guess that did turn into a speech lesson, sort of.”

Holly turned her head to look at him, shaky giggles pouring out of her then.

“Felt more like a demonstration to me,” she remarked, making him snort and chuckle as well. Rolling over, she pressed another deep kiss to his lips. Humming in absolute pleasure, she pecked the corner of his mouth once more before sliding away and off the bed. Into the adjacent bathroom she went, the sound of rushing water and short gasps leaking through the panels lending credence to his supposition that she was cleaning herself up. Sighing, Steve heaved himself up, peeling the condom off carefully and tying the end. Dropping it into the trash basket on the other side of the end table, he flopped back onto the bed, his goofy smile returning as the bathroom door finally opened. The light of the room backlit Holly, catching her in a sort of hazy glow. Drinking her in, he barely managed to catch the fresh, wet washcloth she tossed at him. She smirked at him as she leaned against the doorjamb, watching unabashedly as he cleaned himself up.

“Want that cake now?” she asked, tipping her head to where the mini-bar fridge was. Sated as he was from lovemaking, he did perk up at the idea of eating again. He nodded enthusiastically, and she had to bite her lip to stop herself from chuckling aloud at him when he threw the washcloth aside.

“Yeah,” he stated, preparing to rise when she held up a palm. Halting at her insistence, he stared as she grabbed up his shirt, slinging it around her shoulders and buttoning it up. His boxer briefs, which had landed along the high back of the chair, were fetched up as well, with her shimmying them on. A little nonplussed at her actions, he wondered, “What are you doing?”

Hastily she tripped across the suite to the closet, taking one of the pairs of the complimentary slippers there and shuffling into them.

“Give me a few minutes,” she called back, snatching up the key card before heading out the door. It shut with a loud click behind her, leaving her husband gaping and still naked on the bed. Several seconds went by before the stunned expression slid off his face, and he scrubbed at his eyes, shaking off her sudden exit and rising. He went around snapping off the lamps that had illuminated the space, leaving the one on the nightstand untouched. He’d found Holly’s bra and panties—one hanging off the high definition television set, the other under the coffee table, and picked them up, along with her dress and his clothes. All were bundled onto the sofa, his washcloth thrown into the bathroom and sinking directly into the wide tub. He stared at it for a few moments, an eyebrow quirking as he amended some plans in his head. The dropped condom box and torn wrapper were set upon his nightstand, ready in case there was a need for them later. Sitting himself back down on the bed, he leaned back into the many jostled pillows just as the shifting and clicking at the door sounded. On instinct, he immediately covered himself with one, noting that he would have to make sure that pillow was discarded when they eventually went to bed.

Holly returned, the glow of the hall lights behind her enlightening the rumpled clothes and her tousled hair. An air of satisfaction clung to her person, giving away her previous activities even more so than her appearance. He grinned at her as she came in, the locks slid home and her borrowed slippers kicked off. Holding up her hand, she waved around a couple of plastic utensils with pride.

“I was able to snag a couple forks from downstairs.” She snickered, and rolled her shoulders back as she tiptoed over to the fridge. About to commend her for her tenacity, he was stopped short when she muttered, “I think I embarrassed the hell out of the front desk guy, though, when I asked.”

His jaw dropped, a bark of shocked laughter shooting out. “Holly Jean.”

She shot him a look as she pulled out the container, not having any of it. “We needed forks for this. There's too much to go at with just fingers; look how much they gave us!”

She shook the container then, the dinner-sized box emphasizing her point. Rolling his eyes, he gestured for her to come back to the bed. Doing just that, she placed the box and forks on her nightstand, holding up a one-minute finger. Slipping his boxers off (hidden mostly by his shirt, anyway), she handed them over to him, snickering as he grumbled under his breath and took them from her. Once he’d slid them on, he let the pillow he’d been shielding himself with fall to the floor, his wife sitting in the V of his legs with the box of cake on her lap. Pressing a kiss to the nape of her neck, he took the fork offered to him, the two digging into the confection with gusto.

Much later, after the cake was eaten and the second round indulged in (reaffirmation of their love for one another spurring it on), the couple finally managed to find their way under the sheets. The second round of clean-up had left them a little chilled, and the comforter was moved into the bathroom to soak—impatience had led to slight staining from the cake container being toppled onto it, the remnants of the frosting smearing. In place of it, the heating unit on the wall was cranked up, the two cuddling up close to one another to fend off the cold of a February night.

“Hon?” Holly began after a few moments of quiet, her fingers dancing over his bare chest. A query had come to mind earlier, and she hadn’t pursued it, due to engaging in other activities, but once it occurred to her again, it wouldn’t leave her alone. Not until she asked him for an answer.

“Hmm?” Steve hummed, opening his eyes again. Clearing her throat, she chewed the inside of her cheek for a second, forging ahead when the curiosity became too much.

“Why’d you stick to French tonight? I mean, I've heard you drop all three languages you've learned in one go before. You focused on one for a lot of the time tonight.” Catching the widening of his eyes, she merely shrugged. “Just wondering.”

Wetting his lips with the tip of his tongue, Steve deliberated over the answer for a few moments.

“It's a Valentine's weekend,” he said, lifting a shoulder as well. “French is...well, it's more romantic. So I've heard.”

She dipped her chin, her gaze lowering. “Mm.”

One hand cupped around her waist, fingers pressing gently when she’d retreated into her thoughtfulness. “What?”

“I dunno. Just, it was nice, but...I prefer when you use Irish, I think,” she confessed, trailing her finger lightly over his scar, the patterns indiscernible. “Means more.”

Risking a glance up at him, she couldn’t discern the flood of feeling in his eyes. The deep connection to his heritage, one he had to hide in his childhood and push away, was something he rarely shared. Only in cases of incredible passion and high emotion did he let it show, and she’d realized that some time ago. She liked it when he let go of that control and let himself speak the language of his ancestors, that his mother taught him and implored him to hold onto so intensely in private.

He could let go with her, and she encouraged that at every possible opportunity. She wanted that more than something the rest of the world consider superior in romanticism.

Registering what she meant, Steve’s gaze cleared and he eventually pointed out, “Which I did get to, at the end. Both times. And in between.”

“Fair point,” she conceded, a sly smile coming to her lips. Her expression softened, and she broached tentatively, “Will...will you teach me some? Some that I haven't already heard before?”

A surge of pride and pleasure flooded through Steve then. Holly had known how personal the language was to him, and had not pressed him to give her more than what he wished to. Still, he would teach her what she wanted to know, were she to ever ask. The fact that she actively was filled him with a sort of happiness.

“Sure,” he said, clearing his throat and looking at her directly to keep her attention. “ _Codladh sámh_.”

“Cola sah-vuh,” she chirped after a few seconds, her forehead scrunching in concentration and the scar above her eyebrow all but disappearing when she did so. Off Steve's wince, she grunted in distaste at herself, looking at him and nodding for him to repeat the phrase again. It took a few more times before she could confidently parrot it back to her husband, her mouth forming the words as closely as she could. “Colla saw'v.”

He squeezed her hip, bussing the tip of her nose in congratulations. She smiled broadly, though a yawn broke it a few seconds later.

“What does that mean?” she asked him, her eyelids drooping. He chuckled a little, the sound rumbling in his chest.

“It means 'sleep well.'” Pressing a kiss to her forehead, he started to turn onto his back. The arms curled around her tightened, taking her with him as he moved. Guiding her to lay her head on his chest, she complied without much resistance, nestling against his skin and humming in time with his heartbeat. Pulling up the sheets, he continued, “And you should; we'll do more another time. We got a big day ahead of us tomorrow.”

Her eyes had fully closed by then, and she laid her hand on his stomach, the soldered-together bands of her claddagh and her wedding ring smooth against his skin.

“Oh, are we going somewhere?”

She couldn’t see it, but her husband’s mouth had curved into a devious little grin, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he stared up at the ceiling.

“Yeah...to the wall, and the sofa, and there's that big tub in the bathroom, too...got to fit it all in while Grant is being watched and we've got the time.”

Gasping in mock surprise, she gave his side a poke, a breathy laugh pouring out of him as she grazed his ticklish spot.

“Naughty,” she faux-chastised him, giving him one more poke before smirking as well. “The people who think you're so innocent would have their minds blown.”

“Not my fault they think that way,” he responded, a palm threading through her hair. “Go to sleep.”

A put-upon huff flew out of her, but she nestled into his side and gave his stomach a light pat, a kiss pressed to the center of his chest before she settled.

“ _Codladh sámh_ , Steve,” she mumbled, and she heard his heart thump a little faster in response. As he reached out and turned off the last lamp, he exhaled in contentment before letting his eyes flick shut.

“ _Codladh sámh_ , Holly.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Translations for what Steve says in the text:  
>  _“Je te veux… Tu m'excites.”_ -French; I want you…You turn me on.  
>  _“On va se coucher.”_ -French; Let's go to bed.  
>  _“Un, deux…”_ -French; One, two…  
>  _“Ça te plait?”_ -French; Do you like this?  
>  _“Oui, ma beauté…Dis oui.”_ -French; Yes, my beauty…Say yes.  
>  _“Bon.”_ -French; Good.  
>  _“Sin é, a chailín álainn. Sin é.”_ -Gaelic (Irish); That’s it, beautiful girl. That’s it.  
>  _“Codladh sámh.”_ -Gaelic (Irish); Sleep well.
> 
> All were done with an online translator; forgive me if I have erred.  
> I will never, ever tire of multilingual!Steve.
> 
> Photo inspirations for this chapter are posted at my LiveJournal: phantomproducer.livejournal.com. Check out the most recent post there if you're interested in that sort of thing.


End file.
